We Are District 9
by monzithewriter
Summary: Every year, they were looked over. Whenever someone would even mention their district, people would scoff or laugh. To everyone else, they were nothing, but to each other, they were everything. This year would be different. When a certain Career brings her out of the shadows, she can finally shine, which she soon realizes isn't always a good thing.


**A/N: I apologize sooooooo much for not writing anything for the past, like, forever! It's just that I'm trying to get my priorities in order, and the story I was writing totally sucked (to me, anyway, sorry if you liked it, but ****_Lose Yourself _****is officially dead. I may or may not regurgitate it in the future, but for now, I've buried it in my backyard).**

**I hope this makes up for it, because FF is my life and the original stuff that I wrote/wanted to publish into an actual book isn't getting any responses, so I'm back to FF till I get back on my feet.**

**This is ****_We Are District 9_****. Enjoy!**

**Also, I don't own Hunger Games. Suzanne Collins does (bless her heart).**

"_We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of the dreams." _**– Willy Wonka, ****_Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory (1971)_**

Chapter 1: Nightmare Come Alive

(Samaria's POV)

We are District 9. Not that anyone cared. The focal point of the Hunger Games was always the Careers, and how they were supposedly "destined" to kick our asses year after year. But this time would be different, I could feel it. This time, we just might be able to get past the initial bloodbath.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

We'd been riding the train for the past hour, and it felt like four. I tried to keep myself busy, counting how many bridges we crossed, how many seconds ticked by, how many times my heart would skip a beat over the duration of our time participating in the Hunger Games. Little things that never would've mattered before today, but were so vital now. I held onto these small things, knowing they were the only things I had left.

Our mentor, Demitri Joyce walked in. He was young, I'd say late-twenties. He was slender, his face heart-shaped with a short, black beard framing his jaw. He was specially polished for the occasion, his suit refined and creased in all the right places. He was the first person I saw that could pull off a purple suit, but Dustin, my brother, said that folks from the Capitol dressed differently than we did, as opposed to our rags, and the purple suit was only the tip of the iceberg.

"Let's get started," he said as he sat across from us. "Dustin, this is very important, so make sure you remember this."

I couldn't help but shed a few tears when I had to look at my brother beside me as he silently cowered in fear. I could only imagine being him in this horrific situation. He was only thirteen, and he was sentenced to death.

District 9 wasn't a happy place before that day, but we got by. It wasn't until the day of the Reaping that pulled our entire family apart.

"_Sammy," Dustin had said that day. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"_

_I merely scoffed at him, knowing there was absolutely nothing out there for me. Nothing but the grain mills and factories of District 9 awaited my future self. It was something I dreaded, but also something I accepted as inevitable. "I'm going to work the mills, Dusty," was my reply. "Just like everyone else."_

"_You can't want that," he said, looking into my eyes. I loved his eyes. He had inherited them from our mother, and when she died, that was all that was left of her. They were a lovely brown, a soft, kind brown. A beautiful shade that could never be replicated. They eased my pain whenever I was feeling blue, and they acted as a guiding light through the dark tunnel that was, what would be, later today._

_As I sat on the floor beside him, holding and caressing his hand in my own, I looked back at him. "Of course I don't want that," I replied honestly. "Personally, I like gymnastics. But that's not gonna happen any time soon."_

_He didn't say a word as he gripped onto my hand tighter. It was the last thing I felt before the Reaping: the last day of my life._

_They pricked my finger, taking my blood like a hungry vampire. Their strange mechanism beeped, indicating my blood matched my body. Another Peacemaker pushed me along, into a row of girls who were my age, seventeen. I had even recognized some of them, too. Josie, Bristol, Tabitha … every girl from my class at school was here, whimpering under the watchful eyes of the representatives from the Capitol._

"_Welcome, all," Lady Woodrow said – you'd think she'd be royal, with a name like Lady. "To the Reaping for the 74th annual Hunger Games. Seventy-four wonderful years of action, drama, and hardships unnumbered. All on reality television!"_

_I couldn't possibly have been the only one to mentally groan._

"_As you know," she continued. "The Hunger Games is an honoured tradition commemorating the Capitol's … kind, forgiving nature." She gestured her hands to the large screen as it flickered to life. Naturally, they showed the annual video of how District 13 was blown to bits, and from the rubble the Hunger Games was born. But I couldn't concentrate it, knowing that my brother was all the way at the front of the crowd, right behind the twelve-year-olds. It was nerve wrecking, being unable to pinpoint him, but I had to have faith in the fact that he was going to be okay._

"_And now, for the girls." She flourished her hand around the inside of the Reaping Ball, gracefully picking up a folded piece of paper from the pile. She held it in such a way that looked as if it was covered in disease; she held it away from her face. She coughed lightly, unfolded the paper, and read it aloud into the microphone. "Samaria Eclaire?"_

_I looked around and saw many scared and pitiful expressions painted on my classmates' faces. Tabitha, whom I knew best, grabbed my hand in hers and nodded, and with her eyes said, "You'll be okay, Sam."_

_I nodded back to her, cracking a half-smile. I walked out of my row and up to the stage, where Lady watched me. I became scared, but my pace didn't slow. Three Peacemakers nudged me forward, pushing me down the aisle that split the boys from the girls. When I got to the stage, I looked out at my district with a blank expression. I was mirroring my father, who only stared at me, without sadness, without fear, without love._

"_And for the boys …" More digging around in the Ball, which irked me._

Just get it over with_, I thought. _Hurry up!

"_Oh, my," Lady said after she read the paper over to herself. "It seems we have a set of siblings this year."_

_No __way_ _was this happening right now. No, no, no, no …_

"_Our boy tribute is … Dustin Eclaire!"_

_NO!_

_I didn't like her before, but now I despised her. I hated how her long, shiny, purple hair glistened under the hot sun, blowing beautifully in the mild wind. I hated how lovely she looked in her lavender dress. I hated how her lilac eyes matched her makeup surrounding them. I hated how she could ruin my life in one second – and did._

_I wanted to scream, but when I opened my mouth, no sound came out. I couldn't speak, couldn't even utter an incoherent noise. All I could do was watch the current events unfurl in front of me, with my mouth gaping wide open. I closed my mouth and forced back the tears that pooled at the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall. Dustin walked onto the stage, tears staining his beautiful, childish face. All I could think was that he was too young, too pure and innocent to die. It wasn't fair._

_Life was never fair, and we had to learn that the hard way our whole lives._

_I looked to my left and saw Dustin shaking in his shoes. I could hear his heavy breathing from three metres away. In that moment, I wanted to cry, but I couldn't. If I were to implode, what would become of Dustin? If I was weak, who could Dustin look up to? Surely not the Careers. Heaven forbid the Careers lay their hands on him during the initial bloodbath._

"_Ladies and gentlemen of District 9, I am pleased to give you your tributes for the 74th annual Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favour!"_

_She had basically killed me, then and there. She had killed both of us._

"Sam?" I could hear Demitri's voice attempting to break through the barrier that the flashback represented. "Samaria!"

I blinked, returning to the present. "What?" I asked without meeting his gaze. My voice was sharp, though it wasn't his fault my lack of patience overpowered me. I wanted it all to be over before it even began.

"I was about to tell Dustin how to find shelter. Would _you_ like to know, too?" He asked in a mocking tone.

I huffed, annoyed. "Fine," I said, crossing my arms. "How do you find shelter?"

He leaned forward, as if to tell us a secret. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, looked up and sighed. "Later."

"Oh! We're here, we're here!" Lady walked into the room. She ran to the window, gawking at the people like a young child seeing all the exotic animals of the zoo for the first time.

Before our father's heart turned to stone, he once took Dustin, four, and myself, eight, to the District 9 "Zoo" – I use the term loosely. It was basically a goat, a horse and a cow huddled together in a tight pen. We stayed for an hour, staring in awe at the animals that we had never seen before. There were no exotic animals at our zoo. But it was still a special day.

"Oh, you _must_ come see," she continued. "It's simply _divine_ during the summer."

Assuming she meant the Capitol, I stood, looking out the window. I could see everyone waving and smiling at us and, strangely, it made me want to smile, too. I waved back at them, smiling bigger than I've ever smiled before. Dustin's laughter filled my ears as he waved to the crowd, who seemed to love him. Everyone was cheering and laughing, taking pictures and waving at us. Maybe this would be different than I expected. Maybe we might even get a sponsor or two.

But I couldn't get my hopes up.


End file.
